


4 times liam wore zayn's sweatpants and the 1 time he didn't

by twentyone



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anger Sex, Embarrassing, Learning to Swim, M/M, cute boys share sweats, harry falls out of bed, liam likes his sweaty morning run, post-concert cum, the sweats are getting tighter by the second, zayn's eyes and how liam drowns in them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyone/pseuds/twentyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it’s been building up for years now, this strange tension between them that started out as friendly touches and morphed into something much deeper, and all of it is witnessed by zayn's poor pair of grey sweats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 times liam wore zayn's sweatpants and the 1 time he didn't

****  
the first time liam pulls zayn’s grey sweatpants on is a complete accident. it’s at the judge’s house, and he has known zayn for about three weeks, nowhere near enough time (by liam standards) to start borrowing clothes from him. their tiny room is a mess, which is not at all uncommon given the fact that they’re five teenage boys sharing a twenty by twenty foot space. he thinks they’re his sweats, since he has a pair almost identical to zayn’s, and this is before liam’s growth spurt and manical exercise regime so he and zayn are much closer in size. liam doesn’t notice that they aren’t his own until zayn walks into the room later that night as liam sits reading in his lower bunk and his eyes narrow slightly,

liam, uh – aren’t those –

what? 

I think – I think those are my trousers, liam, 

oh – lord, sorry zayn, god I’m so sorry I didn’t notice I thought they were mine – 

his cheeks flushed a deep crimson, liam hurriedly tugs the sweats off and throws them in zayn’s direction without meeting his eye. louis cackles in his top bunk and elbows harry evilly. heat floods up liam’s neck and he wants to disappear. 

hey, liam, it’s no problem, mate, uh, don’t worry ‘bout it, yeah? zayn says, face also slightly red.

liam remains in silent mortification for the rest of the night, and when zayn pats his arm before climbing into the bunk above him, shivers run up liam’s spine. he blame it on the fact that he’s stuck in his boxers and it’s a bit chilly outside, damned spanish summers. 

****   
the second time it happens is in sweden. they’re recording the album and absorbing scandinavian culture and the fall weather is admittedly a bit nippy. liam’s alarm somehow fails to go off in the morning, and so he wakes up in his and harry’s shared hotel room with the red clock letters showing 9:03. 

fuck.

whazza? harry mumbles, tangled in the sheets and still half-asleep. 

harry, we were supposed to be in the studio twenty minutes ago, get up! liam shouts, springing out of bed and pawing furiously through the pile of clothes on the floor in search of something, anything, to wear. 

shit, harry groans, and there is a sudden crash as he rolls too far off the bed and collapses onto the ground. 

they’re sprinting out the door three minutes later, harry wearing a bathrobe and a sweatshirt with ‘I love stockholm’ stamped across the front, and liam wearing grey sweats and a bright pink t-shirt. 

they explode through the doors of the studio, rubbing sleep out of their eyes, and are met with a paternal disapproving glare from louis, a bright smile and ‘about bloody time’ from niall, and from zayn – 

nice sweats, liam. he winks, and liam looked down and realizes. 

crap, sorry zayn, we were in a hurry and I just grabbed them. 

keep them on, then. we don’t want you to freeze in here, it’s cold enough as it is. he steps toward liam and offers him a jacket because yeah, the studio is pretty damn cold. 

thanks, liam mutters, shrugging it over his horridly pink shirt. 

they look better on you, zayn says decidedly, eyes roving liam’s lower body quickly before he returns his gaze to liam’s face and winks. his eyes are dark and taunting, smile tantalizingly sweet. 

all right boys, let’s get started then, the manager booms as he enters the room, and zayn takes his cue and steps back beside louis. 

all else becomes background noise as liam stares at zayn, beginning to realize how fucking beautiful the boy is, and how much that realization terrifies him. 

****  
the third time is in a foreign place on tour somewhere. liam’s sharing a hotel room with zayn, a mutual agreement that they sort of came to a few months ago. he slides his key through the scanner thing and enters the room as quietly as he can, toeing off his running sneakers and shutting the door behind him, making sure it doesn’t bang. 

he strips off his sweaty shirt and track pants and leaves them in a pile at the bathroom door, pausing for a moment to stare at zayn’s sleeping form curled up under a thin sheet. wherever they are, it’s warm at night, and even though he isn’t the one who just ran six miles, there’s a thin sheen of sweat across zayn’s forehead. in sleep, he’s young, long dark lashes pressed against those holy cheekbones, jaw slack, hair limp. and he still manages to look beautiful. 

liam snaps out of it, and shuts the door to the bathroom, turning the shower water on and adjusting the temperature to a nice warm drizzle. standing under the jets, he lets his mind roam. zayn’s sleeping face hovers in his vision, zayn’s thin shoulders and collarbones protruding, his bare back, his wiry arms and long fingers. liam pictures those fingers wrapped around his cock, squeezing and pumping him up and down, and – 

the bar of soap in his hand clatters to the floor wetly, and liam swears under his breath as he bends to pick it up. he finishes his shower, although he feels more wrecked than refreshed when he steps out and wraps a towel around his waist. 

zayn’s awake when he steps out of the bathroom, staring at him with sleepy eyes. he smiles softly, and something inside of liam melts a little bit. 

hey.

hey. did I wake you?

yeah. but it’s okay.

okay.

liam moves further into the room, running his hands through his dripping hair and trying to ignore the warmth in his stomach. 

here, zayn says, and liam instinctively catches the article of clothing that is tossed to him. the grey sweats have definitely seen their fair share of days. 

thanks, liam says, letting the towel fall to the floor. he turns his back to zayn and pulls the sweats on, noticing their tightness across his torso. from behind him zayn says,

you’ve grown. you’re starting to outgrow them.

liam turns around and he can’t help himself, he launches onto the bed, on top of zayn, covering the older boy’s body with his own. 

have i? he teases, smushing zayn’s face into the pillow. 

ah, stop it, we all know you’re a hulk or something, you’re practically made of muscle, please get off me liam please ow you’re hurting my dick-

liam springs back, chuckling, and zayn’s smiling, too, and then there’s a pause when they both just stare at each other and something inside of him shifts and liam’s drowning in those eyes and he knows, as he feels the already-tight sweats tightening, that he’s utterly and completely fucked. 

****  
the fourth time is on the road, the wheels of the tour bus humming steadily as they drive through the night from one city to the next. it’s pitch black outside, with the occasional orange streetlight illuminating the contours of the five boys all sitting in the small common area at the back of the bus. louis and zayn are passing a joint back and forth, harry’s skyping his mum, and liam’s head is resting in niall’s lap as they share his earbuds, some old kanye west carrying them through the night. zayn’s sweats are on him, somehow. he can’t remember putting them on, but he sure as hell isn’t about to take them off. 

imagine – imagine an elephant with butterfly wings, zayn’s saying, voice tight from the weed. louis giggles, shaking his head. 

those would have to be some mental wings, he replies, and zayn’s laugh is low and throaty. liam isn’t aware of himself watching zayn, he never is, it’s almost an unconscious choice. whenever zayn’s in the room, he can’t see anything else. right now zayn is shrouded in thick smoke, his limbs spread haywire, one leg curled around louis and the other almost touching liam where he lies. he looks like a noodle. like an impossibly hot, angelic, perfect noodle. 

zayn tilts his head then, and his eyes meet liam’s. he gestures with one crooked finger, come here, and liam obeys, disentangling himself from niall and crawling over to sit beside zayn. 

you’ve got a thing for these, haven’t you, he drawls, fingers tracing lightly over liam’s thigh. he shudders and tries to pass it off as a yawn. 

maybe, he replies noncommittally, and zayn’s eyes darken mischievously. 

I’ve got an idea.

yeah?

louis – here, please, zayn extends his arm and louis hands him the joint. 

no, I don’t want any, thanks mate, liam goes to say, but zayn lifts a finger to his lips and silences him. 

we’re gonna shotgun, yeah? zayn mutters into liam’s ear, hoisting himself off the ground and straddling liam’s hips while carefully balancing the joint in his free hand. liam is painfully hard and he wonders if zayn notices. 

yeah – okay, he hears himself say, despite the fact that he, liam payne, never smokes anything.

liam watches mesmerized as zayn brings the joint to his mouth and inhales. the red cherry glows in the dark bus and zayn, too, glows. the thrumming of the wheels soothes liam, swallows all other noise. zayn leans forward, eyes never leaving liam’s. he opens his mouth and liam mimics the action. 

fuck, he hears harry mutter, but liam ignores him. 

zayn’s eyes blur into one dark mass as he leans so close that his mouth brushes liam’s. he exhales into liam’s mouth and liam inhales the sweet sticky smoke, forcing himself not to cough when his eyes begin to water. he feels high off of this, off of zayn sitting on top of him, squeezing liam’s thighs with his own. the urge to grab zayn by the back of his head and kiss him is overwhelming, and liam clenches his palms tightly, nudging zayn out of his lap before the situation gets out of control. zayn climbs off of him with something akin to regret in his eyes, and suddenly liam can’t be in the same room as him anymore. 

that was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen, he hears harry whisper to louis as he stumbles out of the back room and into his tiny bunk. the bus rolls and heaves beneath him, and liam tries to fall asleep, praying that the precum leaking out of his painfully hard dick won’t stain zayn’s sweats. 

****   
the fifth time, they’re high again, but not from substance – from the concert. zayn’s been looking at liam like he can’t decide if he wants to rip out his throat or fuck him raw, and liam knows – because he feels the same way. it’s been building up for months now, this strange tension between them that started out as friendly touches and morphed into something much deeper, much stronger. niall and harry and louis have noticed, too, but no one ever said anything, so it just kept building up to a point that liam doesn’t think he can take it any longer. 

every time zayn looks at him, it happens – that thing inside of him, that shifting feeling like his organs are trying to rearrange themselves. those eyes, those fingers, zayn – liam thinks he might be drowning and has no way to stay afloat, he feels helpless and yet strangely powerful. his shoulders have widened out, his biceps fucking bulge, he spends all his energy on working out so that he doesn’t have to think about zayn, but fuck it all, liam just wants to put his muscles to use for once and slam zayn against a wall and kiss him. 

the fifth time, it’s zayn wearing his own sweats. the concert is over, and liam’s blood is boiling, pulse thundering in his ears, electricity coursing through his body every time his arm touches zayn’s as they walk down the hall to their dressing room. liam walks into the room and zayn pulls off his tight black pants and replaces them with his sweats, the sweats, the same fucking sweats liam masturbated in on the bus that night, and that’s it. 

he slams the door shut, blocking off a confused niall louis harry, and clicks the lock. 

zayn, he growls, predatory. liam turns and zayn is suddenly right there in front of him and fuck. he shoves him against the wall without warning, without thinking, grasping zayn’s face between his hands. zayn stares at him. 

liam, zayn says quietly, and he snaps. liam kisses zayn furiously, pushing zayn against the wall and shoving a leg between zayn’s to find him already hard. 

zayn responds fervently, licking into liam’s mouth like a man dying of thirst, grinding himself shamelessly against liam’s thick muscular leg and liam thinks, this is it, he’s learning how to swim in zayn. 

oh – god, yeah, zayn moans, moving a hand to palm liam through his jeans and liam grunts and kisses him harder. 

do it, zayn. come for me, he grits out, tongue swiping across the strip of skin between zayn’s mouth and nose, five-day stubble stinging a bit, but he moves straight to zayn’s neck and begins to suck and lick at every piece of available skin he can find. 

fuck, liam, I’m gonna- 

zayn’s mouth opens in a silent ‘o’ as he comes, gripping liam through his jeans and he can’t help it, he comes and kisses zayn’s open mouth, dipping his tongue to swirl against zayn’s as their panting slows down. 

zayn presses their sweaty foreheads together, breaking the kiss, and liam sees the wet stain on the front of his sweats and smiles. 

liam, he sighs, hand moving up to cup liam’s face. I’ve wanted to – that – for so long. so long. 

so have I, liam murmurs, feeling light-headed and better than he has in months. been drowning for a while now, zayn, but I think I’ve figured it out. with the help of your sweats.

my – these? zayn asks, confused, pointing to his stained pants. 

yeah, liam replies and laughs, then, and kisses zayn again, slowly, languidly, sliding his hands up and down zayn’s narrow thighs. 

you know, you can borrow them anytime, zayn says when they run out of breath and part mouths. 

I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer, liam says, but for now, I’d prefer if you took them off. 

zayn’s eyes widen and he laughs, loud and long, pulling the sweats off and throwing them into a corner, and liam doesn’t think they’ll be needing them anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i'll gladly sleep with those sweats thanks


End file.
